Into the Den
by aliis
Summary: What happens when you pass Mickey Bricks on the Underground?


"…yeah, right, well, I've sold four this week, and if that woman in Wood Green had gone for it by the monthly deadline it would've been five…"

A conversation half-heard on a passing up escalator, and Mickey was going down. Once at the bottom, he turned round and got on the ascending staircase, going up two at a time past the commuters standing on the right.

At the top, he quickly scanned the crowds of travellers, and spotted his potential mark going through the ticket barrier. He could feel the adrenalin pumping as he did the same. Following the casually-dressed, thirtysomething man out into the street, he noticed that the backpack he carried bore a company logo: a red lightning flash and the name "Electrica".

Staying back at a comfortable distance while keeping the target in clear view, Mickey got on the phone himself.

"Ash. Google something for me; it's a brand name, Electrica."

"Gotcha. Just a minute…" Mickey could hear the tapping of laptop keys on the other end. "There's a couple of possibilities, but the closest one is a London-based group selling electrical products to homes and businesses. That sound about right?"

"Yes, could well be the one. Check out the others too, and get back to me if you think they're at all likely. I'm following a possible lead, literally…not sure where I'll end up, could be with a customer, could be head office…"

"…which is in Fulham," Ash supplied.

"And that, coincidentally, is exactly where I am right now. Cheers, Ash." Mickey rang off just as his quarry entered a convenience store a couple of hundred yards ahead. He couldn't possibly enter the premises and risk coming face-to-face with the man, so he continued past the shop doorway and paused to consult the bus timetables at the nearby stop. A few moments later, Man with Backpack strode past eating an apple, and Mickey once again fell in behind him. He was rewarded with a text message from Ash giving him the address of Electrica Ltd., just as the mark entered the selfsame offices.

**********

"Company reports…financials…" Mickey looked up in surprise as he leafed through the papers before him. "…Facebook?! I'm impressed by your enterprise, Ash."

"That's the twenty-first century for you." Ash relaxed and stretched his arm along the back of the couch, feet up on the coffee table.

"Tsk! Manners!" Stacie slapped his legs down as she edged past to inspect his handiwork, and he flashed a mischievous grin.

"This guy Wallace Stevens certainly seems to be a bit of a party animal," remarked Mickey as he browsed through Stevens' Facebook photographs. His brow furrowed. "How did you manage to get access to these? Normally they'd only be available to his approved friends."

"Ah, well…" Ash looked somewhat bashful. "That's down to him thinking I was a very attractive blonde in-flight attendant called Mindy. I mean, he'd obviously never met her as she doesn't exist, but that didn't stop him from clicking on the 'Accept' button when 'she' asked to be his new best friend."

"That's dangerously close to grooming," Stacie wagged a warning finger.

"Oh, purlease!" Ash hurled a sofa cushion in her direction.

"Will you two stop it," said Mickey absentmindedly, still focused on the laptop screen. He sat back, mulling things over. "He certainly fits the bill: over-ambitious, pushy, not too bright…"

"…and vain!" added Stacie. "Check out his wardrobe…" Stevens had apparently posted photos online of himself in every outfit he owned.

Mickey shook his head in disbelief.

"Yeah, he's a right clothes horse," agreed Ash, with an air of scorn. "In my book, that alone's reason enough for him to be our next mark."

Mickey closed the laptop as if to signal his decision had been made. "Stacie, give Albert a call and see if he's rested up and ready to get back to work. Ash, do you by any chance _know_ a Mindy lookalike that would be willing to act as bait for a few minutes?"

Ash looked scathingly across at him. "Do you _like_ hospital food?" he asked.

**********

The beat of the music pulsed out into the street and through all the surrounding alleys.

"Right, so you just go in, meet this bloke, give him this, and then make your excuses and leave, OK?"

"OK, Ash. Is it switched on?"

"Doesn't need to be, Karin. Once he plugs it into his computer it'll draw power from that."

"All right. Meet you back here in ten." The fair-haired young woman ran her fingers through her hair, pulled her top down as far as it could go while still maintaining some decency, and went off round the corner in the direction of the party sounds.

Inside the club, Mickey was already blending in and rather enjoying a dance with a fellow guest, while keeping an eye on his target. He saw Karin coming down the stairs towards the dance floor, scoping out the crowd, and spotting Wallace Stevens at the bar. The mark looked a bit anxious, and alternated between checking his watch and making sure his hair hadn't mysteriously messed itself up.

Karin walked up to him. "Hi, I'm Mindy. You must be Ace," Mickey heard her say as he moved closer to Stevens. He smirked to himself at this unlikely and pretentious abbreviation of "Wallace" that Stevens used.

"Mindy! Er, yes, hi, lovely to meet you in person." The couple awkwardly exchanged "mwah"s.

"I brought you this," Mindy said over the music, and handed Stevens a small, tasteful gift box. He was astonished but obviously very pleased, mostly with himself.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

"I know, but I wanted to. It's kind of an apology." Karin waited for her explanation to sink in.

"That's really…wait, _apology_? What for?"

"For not being able to stay tonight. I'm afraid my sister's gone into labour, and I promised I'd be with her at the birth – her lowlife boyfriend's gone off and left her. But I'll be in touch once everything gets back to normal." Again, she kissed the air beside Stevens' face.

"Oh, that's such a shame…I mean, about your sister, of course, but that you can't stay, too." He fumbled in his inside pocket and produced a business card which he presented to her. "That's my home and mobile numbers, just call me whenever you can."

"That's great, Ace, thank you. Sorry again." Karin turned and made her way through the dancing throng to the stairs. Stevens, though disappointed, felt quietly confident that the relationship was off to a good start; after all, if she wasn't interested in him she wouldn't have come, full stop. But she had come, and brought him a gift into the bargain. He had no idea that he would never see or hear from her again. He looked curiously at the box and decided, just in case, to wait until he was alone to open it.

**********

Albert threw back his head and roared with laughter. "A missile launcher!" he gasped, causing Stacie to lean over and pat him on the back.

"It's one of those little executive toys you plug into your USB port – only I've added the secret bonus of a keystroke logger," explained Ash.

"Ahhh, a Trojan horse - most cunning!" Albert had recovered and was now looking, impressed, at the catalogue picture Stacie had shown him of Karin's gift to "Ace". The mark's name had caused no end of merriment among the crew.

"Told you he was a pompous little git," Ash had said, when they had all stopped laughing.

"And how do you get access to what he's doing on his computer?" Albert wasn't the roper for his technical skills.

"It sends information directly to my computer using this software…" Ash opened the program that allowed him to see what Stevens was doing on his own computer, miles away at the Electrica office. "And I'm flattered to report that he liked my little present so much that first thing this morning he plugged it in, and I've been able to see what he's been up to ever since."

"Now what?" Albert enquired.

"Well, for now, this is just a means to finding out more about Mr. Stevens and his lifestyle," replied Mickey, "thus enabling us to identify the best way to separate him from his money."

**********

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Jackson, I'm from the Energy Consumers Organisation, and I'm just calling to find out what kind of service you had when you recently purchased an energy meter from Electrica. Would you have fifteen minutes to spare to chat about that?"

"Yes, I would, dearie, come in!"

Stacie followed slowly as Mrs. Jackson made her way with some difficulty back up the long narrow hallway to her sitting room.

"Mind the cat, she's a bit nervous of strangers," the old lady warned as a ginger moggy darted past them and up the stairs. "Oh, would you like a cup of tea, love? I've just put the kettle on."

"That'd be lovely, but I don't want to be any trouble," began Stacie.

"No trouble at all, dear…who did you say you were from?"

"The Energy Consumers Organisation." Stacie felt a pang of guilt at deceiving the kind old woman, but she told herself sternly that she wasn't planning to do her any harm – in fact, she was trying to prevent Stevens from continuing on with his scheme. "My name's Gina Esplund."

"Gina! That's a pretty name."

Stacie plunged ahead as the conversation threatened to dissolve into trivialities. "So, a couple of months ago you bought…" – she consulted her spreadsheet – "…an energy monitoring device, from Electrica? Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is. Would you like to see it?" The old lady rose stiffly and went out to the hall cupboard with the aid of her walking frame. She opened the door and switched the light on, then stepped back to allow Stacie to see.

"I'm just going to take a photo of this for our records, OK?" Before Mrs. Jackson could object, Stacie had stored several shots of the meter on her camera. "Lovely. And have you found it useful in helping to keep your electricity costs down?"

"Well…to be honest with you, Gina, I'm not all that sure. All my bills are paid automatically from my bank account, so I don't really need to worry about them. Would you like me to check?"

"Oh no, no, that's fine," Stacie hastily intercepted her, "I don't have the authority to ask to see your personal or financial information. I just wondered if you had noticed a difference."

"My oldest, Bernard, he tried to tell me it was a con, that that nice young man from Electrica was on the fiddle. But I'm a good judge of character." The old lady laid a finger on the side of her nose. "After all, fifty pounds is nothing these days, especially if it's going to reduce the amount of electricity I use. I know, y'know."

"The man from Electrica – would that by any chance be Mr. Stevens?" Stacie guessed, ignoring the misinformation that Mrs. Jackson had obviously been fed as part of the sales pitch.

"That's him. Wally. Lovely young fellow, he was. Couldn't have been more helpful."

"Well, Mrs. Jackson, I think I've taken up enough of your time. Thank you so much for speaking to me."

"A pleasure, dearie. Are you sure you won't stay for a cuppa? The kettle's on…"

Stacie politely excused herself and the front door closed behind her. Opening her folder, she crossed Mrs. Jackson's name off her list and gave a sigh of relief. After five similar housecalls that day, she was ready to call it quits and report back.

**********

"Looks like the genuine article to me – but then, I'm no electrician," mused Albert, handling the object that Stacie had managed to persuade one disgruntled customer to part with.

"That's the idea," said Ash. "No offence, Albert, but it's intended to fool Joe Public, and Stevens seems especially keen to target the elderly."

"And especially successful, going by what Stacie's discovered," said Mickey.

"I only spoke to a small sample of Stevens' customer list, too," Stacie elaborated. "The full database runs into the high hundreds."

"So what have you been able to discover about this 'energy saving device', Ash? Is it a copy of an actual meter?" Mickey wanted to know.

Ash shook his head. "Nah, it's a total con. Doesn't look like the real thing." He pushed a catalogue across the dining table to Mickey, tapping an illustration with his screwdriver. "That's what your actual energy monitoring meter would look like. Stevens is knocking these things out like there's no tomorrow. Personally, I think he's copied it from a sci-fi magazine or something like that. Funny thing is, though - " here Ash waved the screwdriver in the air for emphasis, " – there's no entry on Electrica's product list that matches this." He looked sceptically at the meter Albert held.

"He's using the company's offices and contacts to flog his own private…product, for lack of a better word?" Stacie was incredulous.

"I'm 99.9% sure of it," affirmed Ash. "I mean, if you were to ring them up, Albert, and ask about it…"

Appropriately enough, Albert's face lit up at the suggestion. "What's their number?" he asked, readying his mobile. Ash read out the Electrica office number and Albert entered it and pressed "Call".

"Hello? Is that Electrica?" His voice had magically transformed into one of a frail old Irishman. "Oh, good. A friend of mine told me you might be able to help me. She recently bought an energy monitoring device from you…yes, I'll hold…" Albert covered the mouthpiece and hissed, "No sign of 'Ace' so far." Speaking back into the phone he said, "Yes, I'm still here…oh, that's awfully disappointing...are you sure? Nothing at all? Dear me. No, no, there's nothing else…thank you very much." He hung up and looked at the three expectant faces before him.

"As we thought, they don't make _or_ sell these things. However, they did at one time carry an energy monitoring meter, so perhaps that's where Stevens got his idea from. It was apparently a limited success due to the cost of producing and importing it."

"Laddo seems to have overcome those hurdles," opined Ash with a raised eyebrow.

"Indeed he does," agreed Mickey. "So we know what _his_ con is; question is, what will _our_ con be?"

**********

"Sorry, mate, didn't see you there…" Mickey backed off apologetically, steadying himself on a nearby desk.

"No worries. It's a bit of a crowd in here, isn't it?" replied Stevens.

"Yeah. This is my first trade fair. Is it always this mobbed?"

"This is quiet! You should see it on the second day. I try and come early to avoid the rush," grinned the salesman.

Mickey extended a friendly hand. "Mike Anderson. I've just set up in business for meself."

The handshake was accepted heartily. "Ace Stevens, Electrica. What line are you in?"

"Import and export. Just down from Walsall to scout out potential customers."

"Really? I actually might be interested in hearing more about that, Mike." Stevens indicated the refreshments area of the exhibition hall. "Let me buy you a coffee and we can have a chat."

"Sure! Mine's a latté, thanks." Mickey set his briefcase down beside his chair and loosened his tie a little. Ace returned with their drinks and some complimentary muffins.

"Freebies – that's what I love about these dos!" Stevens announced happily. "Tuck in!"

"Nice one!" said Mickey appreciatively. "So, Ace, is your company looking to export? Import? Or a bit of both?"

"I'll be upfront with you, Mike. I'm looking to set up on my own, too. I mean, I'll hang onto the Electrica job but that's just to pay the bills. What I want to do is put lots of lovely icing on the cake, know what I mean?" He winked theatrically.

"You're thinking of moonlighting." Mickey leaned forward eagerly to signify his interest and approval.

"Spot on. See, I've developed a new product that I don't want my boss to know about; if he did, the company might try to nick my idea."

"Or worse still, your boss could pinch it himself and claim the credit," suggested Mickey.

"Damn straight. No way is that idiot muscling in on my gig." Stevens finished his coffee. "Want another?" Mickey shook his head, and his new-found contact fetched himself another espresso.

"So you need a way to get your product in and out of the country without him knowing," Mickey stated. "To and from?"

"From Taiwan, to Eastern Europe, mostly. And maybe India and Pakistan as well, if it all goes according to plan."

"Sounds good to me. Have you got the marketing and finance sorted?"

Stevens hesitated slightly. "Cashflow isn't an issue right now, and the advertising's all in place."

"You just need my help, then," answered Mickey confidently. "Leave me your contact details and I'll call you in a day or so with some prices."

Stevens handed over his business card, and having said goodbye, Mickey left the hall and walked thoughtfully out onto the street. Time to find out what discoveries Ash had made on Stevens' computer…

**********

"Ace, I'd like you to meet Leonard Fuller, Jim Reilly and Margo Benn. They've been very helpful in getting my import-export business set up, and I think they could help you too."

Wallace Stevens stood still in astonishment and looked around the meeting room. Mickey smiled and ushered him to a chair and he sat, hesitantly, trying to read the faces of the three strangers at the conference table.

The elderly man spoke first. "Mr. Stevens, my name is Leonard Fuller. I'm retired from Wall Street, but from time to time I offer my services as an advisor, and occasional investor, to promising new business ventures. Mr. Anderson brought your idea to me and I was intrigued."

"Oh…" Stevens was unable to think of any suitable response, and his attention was suddenly taken by the willowy, dark-haired woman as she left her seat and strolled over to look out of the window. She turned abruptly, arms folded, to face the room and its occupants.

"Your product idea has great merit, Mr. Stevens. The company I represent is most anxious to bring on board any new ideas that will empower consumers in their wish to save both money and the planet. They have authorised me to give you whatever assistance you require in getting your product off the ground floor."

"Thank you ver…" Stevens began, but was interrupted by the third man who was evidently Jim Reilly, judging by his Irish accent.

"I own a manufacturing plant just outside of Dublin. I've examined the specs you sent Mike, and I think we can do business. We've an operational window of three weeks starting the day after tomorrow, if you're ready to go." Seeing the astonishment increase on Stevens' face, he elaborated, "Your overheads will reduce considerably if you switch the manufacturing end of the business from the Far East to the EU – especially with the tax breaks available in Ireland." He sat back, one arm draped over the back of his chair, as if he had just thrown down a gauntlet of some kind.

There was a brief lull as Stevens was now totally dumbstruck, and Mickey took up the baton. "I realise this must all be a bit of a surprise for you, but as you can imagine, Leonard, Margo and Jim are very busy people and I was only able to put this meeting together at extremely short notice. Obviously you don't have to make any decisions right now - " a _harrumph_ from Reilly's direction could distinctly be heard, and Margo Benn raised a doubtful eyebrow, " – but maybe by, say, three o'clock this afternoon I could have your answer?" Heads nodded around the table. "Excellent." Mickey rose and shook hands with Albert, Stacie and Ash, then escorted the dazed Stevens out into the corridor and back to the reception area where he'd met him.

Meanwhile, Stacie swiftly gathered up all the props from the table: glossy brochures, folders and various other bits of stationery. Ash started packing the laptop away, and just as Albert retrieved his attaché case a smartly-dressed woman entered the room.

"Excuse me, I think you'll find this room is already booked for my twelve o'clock lunch meeting!" she exclaimed with some indignation. "The caterers will be here any minute now…"

Albert looked at his watch. "Gracious, is that the time? We must be going. So sorry to have inconvenienced you." He patted the woman's arm as he left, and Ash and Stacie flashed reassuring smiles as they followed him out, leaving the woman stuttering in protest.

**********

"I've arranged to meet Stevens at the Old Monk at three, so we've got just under four hours," Mickey informed Albert and Stacie as they were driven back to their hotel. "Ash will keep us informed if Stevens tries to check up on us, or meets anyone out of the ordinary." Seeing Stacie was about to ask something, he added with a grin, "Don't worry, he's got his flat cap and moustache out and brushed up on his Knowledge."

All three grinned broadly at the thought of Ash and his commandeered black cab. "Percy having a day off?" Albert asked wryly.

"Of necessity," replied Mickey, "after he lost to you at three card stud last week."

"It's always useful to have these little favours to call in. I like to think of them as my 'markers'," declared a satisfied Albert.

Stacie checked her notebook and said, "We need to do the tickets and also get into his flat."

Mickey nodded in agreement. "I'll pay his residence a visit and you sort the tickets. Albert, you're the first point of contact for Ash, should he need help. I'll drop you two off and go on from here." The limousine slowed to a stop, and Albert and Stacie climbed out at the hotel entrance. The car continued on to its destination across the river.

**********

Just over Southwark Bridge, Mickey's phone buzzed in his pocket. The caller ID warned him that it was Wallace Stevens.

"Hi, Mike Anderson speaking."

"Mike! It's Ace here."

Mickey rolled his eyes, still unable to get used to the cheesy nickname.

"Hi there! Didn't expect to hear from you quite so soon," he answered.

"Well, I wondered if we might meet up a bit earlier than three? I've a few questions I'd like to ask before I make my mind up…I'm not saying that it's not a great offer, it's fantastic, but I have to be absolutely sure that it's all on the level."

" 'On the level'?" Mickey was careful to sound cagey, almost frosty in reply.

"No offence intended, Mike. You know these people and I respect that, but I've only just met them."

"You're annoyed because I shared your idea with them and didn't let you know," Mickey stated.

"Actually, no! I'm really grateful to you for thinking of me and going to the bother of setting up the meeting and everything…"

"…'but'?" finished Mickey.

There was silence and for a split second Mickey thought he'd lost the signal; then Stevens went on, "…but…I'm not an impulsive kind of guy. I like to dot all the i's and cross all the t's, take my time. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

"Well, under normal circumstances, yes. But perhaps this opportunity isn't right for you after all. These folks are looking for someone who's not risk-averse, someone who has the guts to take the leap into the unknown. They know that's what's required in the business world." Mickey almost held his breath, having taken the gamble and called Stevens' bluff. There was another pause, and Mickey realised with a start that he was almost at Stevens' apartment building.

"Where are you now?" he asked quickly.

"I'm actually at the Old Monk, having a bite to eat. When I passed it I thought I might as well go in. So if you could join me…"

Mickey interrupted him, "I'm sorry, Ace, but I'm just about to step into another meeting…can I call you when I'm done?" Stevens could either be boorish and insist, or play safe and not antagonise his sponsor any further. Fortunately he chose the latter.

"OK, well, I'll be here anyway, so if we can meet before three that'll be great."

"All right, talk to you later," was Mickey's non-committal response. He breathed a sigh of relief as he got out of the car, and spoke to the driver. "I won't be long – maybe about fifteen or twenty minutes, OK?" He walked to the entrance to the apartment block, heartily glad that their mark hadn't decided to nip home for lunch instead.

However, he found the security door well and truly locked, and was left with no alternative but to press the services button and hope that a neighbour was at home.

"Can I help you?" A female voice from behind him almost made Mickey jump, but he caught himself in time.

"Oh, hi there." He gave a friendly smile, but sensed that he needed to watch his step here. He flashed one of the many fake ID cards he always carried, courtesy of Ash. "Neville Graham, from the Crown Prosecution Service. I'm looking for a Mr. Scrivens."

The woman furrowed her brow in thought. "Scrivens? There's no-one in this block by that name. Might it be Stevens?"

Mickey produced a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. It happened to be the crew's Chinese takeaway order from the night before. He screwed up his eyes as if trying to decipher the writing. "Might be…" he said uncertainly, then, "What number do you live at?"

With a shy grin, the woman unlocked the door and let them both in. "I actually don't live here; it's my boyfriend's place. I've just popped round to leave him a few things. He works really long hours, and doesn't always have time to do a food shop, and if he hasn't got anything in…"

"…he just orders a takeaway," ended Mickey, nodding in amusement. "I know the feeling!"

By now the woman had walked over to a ground floor flat, number eight, and was unlocking that door too. Mickey's heart sank. Number eight was Stevens' flat. Seamlessly, he looked at the piece of paper again and said, "It's definitely Scrivens. I'm really sorry to have wasted your time. Thanks anyway."

He turned to leave, and Stevens' girlfriend said, "Why don't you come in and have a cup of tea, and I can check the list of residents for you? They've got quite an active neighbourhood watch here, and Ace has a directory of who's who."

"Ace…?" Mickey feigned puzzlement as he was shown into the living room.

With an indulgent smile, the woman said, "It's really Wallace, but since Wallace & Gromit have been around he's shortened it to Ace. He can't stand that cartoon, and it makes it even worse that he's an inventor, too."

"Really?" Mickey was beginning to think that this might not have been a wasted journey after all.

"I'll just go into his office and see if I can dig out that list for you." She disappeared, and Mickey took advantage of her absence to quietly inspect the contents of all the drawers in the living room, as well as a cupboard. He felt, though, that if there were anything useful it would probably be in the very room that Stevens' girlfriend currently occupied. He glanced over at the phone and did a double-take. It was a replica old-style dial telephone, and actually had the number written on it. He quickly texted Stacie to call the number and keep the person who answered it talking for as long as possible. A few seconds later the phone rang, and as his hostess came hurrying through to answer it, Mickey asked, "OK if I use the bathroom?" He got a nod of assent as the woman picked up the receiver.

While he stealthily searched the desk in the spare room that served as Stevens' office, Mickey listened to the phone conversation. Stacie was obviously playing a blinder as some kind of market research person.

The logo of a high street bank caught his eye as he went through the documents in the first drawer. He extracted it with care and was gratified to see that it was a recent statement. Stapled to it for convenience – Stevens', and now Mickey's – was another statement, this time for a savings account. Very useful. Mickey folded these and put them in his inside jacket pocket, then crossed the hall into the bathroom, where he flushed the toilet and washed his hands. Returning to the living room, he could tell the woman was now getting impatient with Stacie, so he said loudly enough for both to hear, "I'll just be on my way now. Thanks again for your help."

"Oh…look, I'll have to go, I've got a visitor," she said into the phone. The woman hung up and followed Mickey to the door. "Are you sure? I'm sorry I didn't have time to find that list I told you about. My name's Glenda, by the way." She offered her hand and Mickey shook it warmly.

"It's no problem. I'll remember to double check my addresses in future! Bye." He waved sheepishly at her as he made his way out onto the street. Rather than get straight into the limo, though, he walked to the next corner where he knew he couldn't be observed from Stevens' flat, then signalled to the driver to pull up beside him. Within thirty minutes, he got back to the hotel to find that Ash, minus headgear and facial hair, had got fed up watching the Old Monk pub, guessed that Stevens had settled in for the afternoon, and returned to join the others.

**********

"All right, Mike?" Wallace Stevens rose and welcomed Mickey to his table in a corner of the Old Monk pub.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Mickey asked.

"You know what, I've been sitting here all afternoon. Shall we go somewhere else instead?" suggested Stevens.

"Why not?" replied Mickey. "There's a very nice wine bar just round…"

"My local's a cracking place," Stevens continued, cutting right across the conversation. "It's probably only about twenty minutes from here. You'll really like it."

"_OK," _Mickey thought, _"we'll go with that."_ However, small alarm bells were going off in his head at Stevens' insistence that they play on his home turf. "Sure," he said aloud. "But we did agree that you would give your answer by three o'clock; otherwise, you risk losing the deal."

Stevens hesitated, then said, "I think you'll find that the _others_ agreed to that deadline. I didn't." By now they were out on the street and "Ace" had flagged down a taxi. Mickey stood determinedly on the kerb.

"I'm sorry, but if you're not going to give an answer just now, I'll need to call them and find out if they're willing to give you a bit more time to think about it." He took out his mobile and called Albert's number.

Stevens tutted impatiently, holding the cab door open.

"Hello, Leonard? It's Mike here. Listen, can you give Wallace a little extra time to consider your proposal? While he realises your offer is very generous, he's reluctant to rush into anything this big ... well, I'll put that to him." Mickey muffled the phone against his shoulder and spoke to Stevens. "They're prepared to give you till close of business today – five p.m. – but no later." He waited.

The cabbie suddenly shouted, "Oi, you gonna be all day there? The meter's running, y'know!"

"All right, five it is, then," Stevens acceded with some reluctance.

"That's fine, Leonard. I'll call you and let you know the outcome." Mickey got into the taxi, Stevens followed, and they headed off.

It was just twenty-five minutes before they alighted outside The Horseshoe Inn. Stevens had spent most of the journey sending and receiving text messages, which only caused Mickey to worry even more. He felt he was being manipulated into a situation over which he had no control. However, he also felt that he had no choice but to go along with Stevens if the con was to succeed.

Inside the pub, Stevens greeted a few of the other customers and the barmaid, who pointed towards a window table. Stevens looked, smiled, and beckoned Mickey over.

"I thought you'd like to meet my girlfriend, Glenda."

Mickey felt the adrenalin _whoosh_. There was no way of getting out of this without letting the mark off the hook. He would need all his skills to improvise here. Stevens obviously didn't notice the surprise on Glenda's face, and excused himself to return to the bar and order a round.

Sitting confidentially close to her, Mickey said quietly, "Your boyfriend thinks I'm a businessman offering him a deal. The reason for that is that I'm an undercover Fraud Squad officer, investigating Mr. Stevens for carrying out extensive fraudulent sales across London in the past eight months. I'll leave it up to you whether you want to tell him that, but I must warn you that anything you do or say may be used in evidence against him."

There was the most stunned silence Mickey had ever encountered. Seeing that Stevens was about to lift their drinks off the bar, he added, "But you need to make your mind up _now_. Either you blow my cover, or you carry on as if nothing unusual has happened."

Glenda swallowed hard as her boyfriend returned with the drinks. "White wine for you, love…and a Stella for you, Mike." He smiled amicably at them as he sat down. The fact that neither of them looked very cheerful seemed to completely escape him, and Mickey realised with a lift that while Stevens might have a good nose for business, he was a terrible observer of people.

"So, Ace, what's your thoughts about the offer on the table?" Mickey asked.

Stevens set his beer glass down and fiddled with the mat, seeming to formulate his answer as he did so. "I'll tell you something, Mike. I used to dream of an offer like this, total strangers approaching me to help me get my business off the ground. You know that TV show, 'Dragon's Den'? Well, like that. I watch that and I think, 'I could do that'."

Mickey nodded understandingly. "And now it's actually happened, you're feeling a bit uncertain?"

"That's dead right!" Stevens was astonished at Mickey's perceptiveness, a word that obviously wasn't anywhere in his vocabulary. He sat forward, animated, and went on, "It's like, this is too good to be true, know what I mean?"

"It's only natural to feel a bit like that. But sometimes dreams do come true, don't they?" From his briefcase, Mickey produced some documentation that Ash had drawn up regarding the "Dragons'" magnanimous proposals. He slid it across the table. "Have a read through that, it shouldn't take you more than five minutes. There's no small print, no catch, their offer does exactly what it says on the tin." He finished his drink and stood up. "Just off to the khazi," he said, nodding towards the other end of the bar.

Stevens was engrossed in the paperwork, but finally Glenda could bear it no longer.

"Ace! What the hell are you up to?" she demanded angrily, in a low voice.

"What?" The blank expression on his face only incensed her further.

"You know exactly what I mean! What have you been doing these past few months when you've been 'working overtime'? Apart from having me run around like your bloody home help, that is."

Laying the papers on the table, Stevens looked at her, utterly bewildered. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Glen."

"No, of course you don't. You know, it's taken this to make me open my eyes and see what a complete idiot I've been. Our 'relationship' isn't anything of the sort. We hardly see each other…"

"I know, that's why I suggested we do this!" explained her boyfriend, still baffled.

"Oh yes, very good, Ace, invite me to a business meeting with one of your contacts. How special do you think that makes me feel?" There was no stopping her now. "I've absolutely had it up to here. Everything comes second place to your work, you've no time for anything else, and now I find out that you're involved in something so dodgy you make Arthur Daley look like Businessman of the Year. So let me make it easy for you: we're finished." She got up, threw his apartment key at him and stormed out of the pub before he could utter another syllable.

Two tables away, Ash texted Mickey to let him know that his cover was still intact, then left to return to his taxi.

Stevens was still sitting, shell-shocked, when Mickey came back and sat down. He looked around for Glenda, shrugged, and said, "So, Ace, now you've had a chance to look at it in black and white, what d'you think?"

His answer was a glazed look, then a shake of the head as Stevens endeavoured to clear his mind and concentrate on the question.

"Sorry, mate, just got a bit distracted there…well, yes, it all looks sound to me. I was thinking, though, that perhaps I should run it past an accountant."

"Right. Did you have someone in mind, or…?" asked Mickey, straight-faced, although inside he was screaming, _Take the offer, you berk!_

"Actually, no…" Stevens was lost in thought again, then appeared to come to a decision. "Forget it."

_Dammit,_ thought Mickey. _Lost him._

"Accountants – who needs 'em? I can tell for myself that this is an incredible offer. Opportunities like this don't come round every day. Let them know I'm in." He sat back, arms folded, certain he'd made the right choice.

Smiling and relieved, Mickey nodded, and took out his phone.

**********

"That's it, we're all set!" Albert shook Stevens' hand in hearty congratulations, Mickey popped a bottle of champagne, and there were smiles and the clink of glasses all round.

"I'm sure this will be a decision you will always be glad you made," purred Stacie, wanting to make sure Stevens wasn't thinking too hard about how much cash he'd just handed over.

"Just think, in a year's time you'll look back on this day as a milestone in your life." Ash clapped him on the back and grinned.

Stevens was on his second glass of champagne. "To success!" he shouted, happily.

"To success!" echoed everyone.

After nearly an hour of celebrating, Stevens was struggling to stay upright and conscious. A taxi was summoned – _sans_ Ash, this time – and the newly-minted entrepreneur slumped in the back as he was borne off to an empty flat and fridge.

"Lovely jubbly!" growled Ash as he riffled a wedge of banknotes in his hands.

"That was easier than I thought it would be," remarked Stacie, enjoying the last of the Bolly.

"Oh, I don't know, that moment in the pub where Mick spotted the girlfriend was a bit hairy," countered Ash, amused.

"You coped admirably in a tricky situation, Michael, no doubt about it. Well done to all of us!" Albert raised his glass again.

"I just hope he enjoys his little jaunt on us," said Stacie, archly.

"I think a holiday was a very generous incentive bonus," Mickey agreed. "Although I doubt he'll get much of a tan."

**********

"Would all passengers on flight BA0107 for Dubai please go to boarding now."

Wallace Stevens eagerly picked up his flight bag and headed towards the gate. The attendant having checked his passport and tickets, he proceeded down the ramp to the plane.

"Ooof, pal, didn't see you there!"

"Good grief, I'm dreadfully sorry!" Stevens stepped back in horror as he realised the elderly man he'd collided with was carrying a white stick and wearing dark glasses. "Can I help you at all?"

"No, no, son, that's all right, I'll just…stand here for a minute, till I get me bearings…"

"Are you sure?" They were now being overtaken by the rest of the passengers boarding, and it was getting rather busy. Ace was carried along with the crowd, and lost sight of the blind man in the overcoat.

It was only seven hours later, when he reached immigration control at Dubai International Airport, that Stevens realised he had a major problem. He knelt on the floor, pulling everything out of his bag and scattering the contents of his pockets in a desperate attempt to find his passport.

"I definitely had it when I got on the plane – they wouldn't have let me on otherwise, would they?" he raged. The immigration official remained impassive.

Two burly customs officers towered over him. "Please come with us, sir," said one of them, and Stevens knew from his tone that it wasn't a request. He was hoisted to his feet and half-dragged to a side room, still protesting, where for the next five hours he was subjected to an extensive interrogation and eventually a body cavity search. Then he was put on the next flight back to Heathrow.

**********

"Find out anything, Ash?" Mickey asked as the fixer entered their hotel suite and threw his keys onto the nearest table.

"Oh yes." A very satisfied grin spread across Ash's face. He undid his jacket buttons and sat down.

"Do tell!" Stacie bounced onto the nearest sofa and curled up in anticipation of a good yarn, and Albert settled himself down next to her.

"It's all the airport staff can talk about," began Ash. "Apparently when he came back…"

Albert raised a hand. "Start at the beginning, and don't spare any details," he instructed.

"Well, as we know, Stevens actually travelled to Dubai without benefit of passport, me having relieved him of it accidentally on purpose before he boarded the plane."

"Yes…" Stacie nodded, impatient to hear the rest.

"It seems that he was stopped at immigration, of course, flew into a panic, and was detained for hours because they suspected him of some kind of smuggling – booze, drugs, whatever. Of course, he didn't actually have anything like that on him, but the lack of the passport made it a criminal offence for him to try and enter the country. But just to make sure, they searched him anyway…" Ash paused for effect till the others realised what he meant, and all winced in unison.

"…and then deported him. When he arrived back in the UK he was fit to be tied. I actually got to see some of the CCTV footage of his return, and he made such a scene at the BA desk that the Transport Police had to be called in. So now he's cooling his heels in a cell somewhere near Heathrow. And he hasn't even realised we've taken his money yet!" Ash finished with glee.

"Well worth the two days' work in Customs," commented Albert.

"I reckon the uniform suits me," said Ash, standing up to show it off. "What d'you think?" He promenaded a little, to the hilarity of the others.

"Oh, fabulous!" applauded Stacie.

"But not that manky overcoat," Ash added, stopping and looking accusingly at Albert.

"Sorry, it was the best I could do at such short notice," came the apology.

"Where did you get it, a skip?" Ash was obviously not impressed by Albert's sourcing.

"Actually, I found it in the back of a cab…"

"Percy's?!" exclaimed Ash, aghast.

"Now, now, calm down, I'm sure it isn't actually _Percy's_ coat." Albert's attempt to placate him was unsuccessful.

"I bloody won't calm down! Do you know what the other drivers say about him? He never takes a bath, kips in the cab, and hasn't had that coat cleaned since 1972. And you had to win me the use of _his_ taxi. Thanks very much." Ash shuddered. "I'm going for a shower. Make that _two_ showers. Eeuch."


End file.
